Iridescent
by Shrrg
Summary: A series of one shots which hopes to preserve the exceptional characterization of the anime. Will cover a broad range of topics and scenarios, featuring every character over time. Primarily a romantic comedy but will employ deeper themes. It's a one-shot series, so this will be updated infrequently. R&R?
1. Rising Halo

Chapter 1: Rising Halo

When Kanda Sorata opened his eyes to the light of the day, he was less surprised than was socially acceptable to see the rear of a rather shameless cat staring back at him, and a small frown and two narrowed eyes were all he could muster at the sight. It was something he had experience with, after all, not that being accustomed to waking up to the image of a feline anus was something to be proud of. Reaching up, he sternly shoved Hikari's body off of his person, sending the pure white cat mewing to the other side of the room.

Sitting up in his bed, Sorata extended both arms above his head and stretched luxuriously, groaning in relief as his sleep-tightened muscles unknotted themselves somewhat.

_Waking up to a cat's bum. My adolescence is too terrible for words._

He remembered having a similar thought, a while ago. Where he had awoken to a similar situation such as this, starting with Hikari's bum, then proceeding to a room that felt empty and alone besides himself, as if the world was trying its best to recede from him. There was an almost identical atmosphere about him today, except Sorata knew that things were different this time around. Misaki wouldn't be running through the door to disturb him this morning, something he found both relaxing and disappointing simultaneously. Sakura Hall hadn't had the same vibrance about it once the prodigal animator had left is premises, despite the fact that she lived a mere house away. He briefly wondered what the older girl was up to at the moment; a glance at the clock told him it was nine in the morning, a Saturday.

_Probably drawing, or daydreaming about Jin..._

Despite his reluctance, Sorata had been made to mold himself over time to consider the actions of others within the Hall when thinking. After all, if he wasn't the one making sure nothing went to hell (as this was possible at every given moment, given the Hall's residents), who would take his place? The newcomers were still feeling their way through their newfound lifestyle, Sensei was too busy trying to get hitched, and Akasaka apparently "lacked the time to concern myself with such earthly matters. Hackers exist in a totally separate realm from mere humans."

And it wasn't like Mashiro was going to get out from under her desk to start breakfast or rouse everyone else from the heavy Friday night's slumber. That girl wasn't even capable of holding a knife properly...

Speaking of Mashiro, it occurred to Sorata that he should be fulfilling his role at the moment, rather than bemoaning it. Like he'd said before, nobody else was capable of running the "normal" side of Sakura Hall, so first he'd start with waking up Mashiro...

He paused halfway through getting to his feet, suddenly swamped in thought. _I just referred to her as Mashiro twice, without thinking,_ he realized. Well, tactically speaking, this could serve some sort of advantage. The prodigal painter was always insisting he call her by her given name, with that passive but determined tone of voice that Sorata had absolutely no defenses against. What was her motive behind that, anyway? She must already know that the two of them were very close friends, after everything they had endured together. The only thing a lack of honorifics could accomplish was...well, intimacy...

Shaking such thoughts, Sorata trotted into the bathroom to wash his face and change into more acceptable garb before leaving his room. Making sure to tiptoe past Sensei's room (she was a notorious late sleeper, and anyone who dared disturb her risked death), he climbed the stairs to the second floor where the girls' dorms were held. Moving on a sort of autopilot, Sorata shuffled across the hall until he was in position to knock sturdily on Mashiro's door, accompanying this with a stern, "It's time to wake up, Mashiro. It's time for breakfast, too."

No reply.

Sorata groaned and thumped his forehead against the cool wood of the door before him. So it was going to be one of _those_ mornings. The ones where he would have to go into her room and shake the girl's shoulders until those bloodred eyes fluttered open to greet the rising sun, their startling clarity captivating him for a moment. But he wouldn't be able to focus on that for too long, because he would have to lay out her clothes for her, and tidy up her hair, even though they both knew she was completely capable of doing those two tasks on her own now. Yet he did them for her anyway.

Reaching out, Sorata twisted the knob of the door and pushed it open slowly, knowing that the harsh creaking of the hinges was something that would help awaken the girl inside. Flinging the door wide open, he strode in through the small mountains of paper scattered across the flooring like sakura petals on a windy day, calling out, "Come on Mashiro, it's-"

Not on the bed.

A glance under the desk. Not there either. Where could she have gone? The blankets and sheets from the bed were instead transferred next to the wheels of the spinning chair, meaning that Mashiro had to have slept there over the course of the night. Yet nobody slumbered there. Meaning-

"Boo," Whispered a toneless voice.

Sorata started so badly at the unexpected noise that his head shot up and smashed into the underside of the desk, sending a pike of pain driving through his skull like a lance of lightning. Crying out in shock, he allowed himself to crumple to the floor and hold his damaged cranium between two hands, rolling desperately away from the desk and the source of the commotion. Once his felt his back impact softly against the wall adjacent to the desk, he pulled himself up using his abdominal muscles and pressed his spine into said wall, searching wildly for an answer.

Mashiro stood there, looking as innocent as she ever could, staring at him with an expression that denied any sort of wrongdoing. Yet it only took Sorata two more seconds to derive what had just taken place, and he sighed into his collar.

"Was that really necessary?"

Mashiro blinked at him, scarlet irises disappearing for just a moment. "I got you, Sorata."

"You got me too well," The boy muttered back, gesturing towards his head.

The girl standing in front of him blinked in apparent thought for a second time, giving Sorata enough time to look her over and make sure she was dressed decently before continuing the conversation. The first thing that came to his attention was that she wore no pants, but this was amended by a long shirt that reached halfway down the girl's thighs.

As for panties, he had no intention of finding out.

"Are you hurt?" Mashiro asked at last, after much consideration.

Sorata stared back at her for a moment, wondering if the question was rhetorical or not. Then he laughed at himself. Shiina didn't even know what rhetorical meant.

"Yes, Mashiro," he sighed.

The painter's passive countenance seemed to soften a fraction then, as she moved to squat on her heels in front of him and bring their eye contact to the same level. Sorata tried his very best not to notice the baby blue pair of panties clinging to Mashiro's creamy skin, but he wouldn't have been able to provide such an accurate description if he had actually succeeded in averting his gaze in time.

"You're so sensitive, Sorata," Mashiro commented after a while, leaning forward to shift her weight onto her knees and place a hand between his legs for additional balance, bringing their faces exponentially closer.

His heart rate skyrocketed just in time for her other hand to snake forward and rest over his chest, allowing the girl to feel how he would feel. Keeping her eyes focused on where his heart would be, Mashiro murmured, "I thought you were the domineering type, Sorata," In that monotone voice that unnerved him at times like this. "Are you really this affected by my actions?"

"J-Just because I have to drag you to school every morning doesn't make me domineering," Sorata insisted.

"You're stuttering, Sorata."

"I am not!"

"Suspicious."

"I told you that I'm not..."

"Suspicious..."

The repeating of the word was punctuated as she brought her face even closer, so near that their noses were practically brushing. Sorata could only recall two other occasions where he'd come this close to Mashiro; when she'd asked to see a man's body, and when she'd asked him to kiss her.

_It's always her._

"My editor wants me to learn the meaning of denial," The girl said suddenly, as she turned her face to the side a bit to emphasize her point, giving him the opportunity to gulp down some much needed air. "She told me that you were the kind of person to deny everything you found unacceptable to feel, and that putting you in unacceptable situations would bring out your denial. Am I doing well in that regard?"

"I-I, wouldn't know," Sorata said softly, trying to say as little as possible, lest he somehow condemn himself.

"Suspicious," Mashiro said almost angrily this time. It was only a hint of emotion, but it felt a million times larger in comparison to her usual poise. "But still not enough."

Before Sorata could find some way to escape, the girl tucked her legs underneath herself and let her weight fall forward further still, until her front pressed against his now jack hammering heart, the swells of her chest doing more than enough to sun the man.

"I'm just doing what my editor told me to do," Mashiro said in ways of an explanation. "But there's something I don't agree with her on."

"Wh-What would that be?"

Mashiro closed her eyes and brushed her nose across the soft skin underneath his chin, like a baby kitten to its mother.

"I don't find this situation so unacceptable."

_Click._

Their attentions were almost immediately thrown elsewhere when a sound emanated from the door, and Sorata was horrified to find Kanna Hase standing in an equally dumbfounded state. The underclassman had apparently pushed open the door and had let go of the knob in shock, resulting in the harsh clatter.

Before he could even begin spluttering out alibis, Kanna spoke first, with an impressive stutter:

"W-W-W-W-W-What is g-g-going on here?"

This time, Mashiro beat him.

"Plan D," She explained nonchalantly.

_There's a Plan D, now?_

Kanna gulped hard at this, and Sorata had to feel a stab of sympathy for the girl.

"Well then...h-have fun..." She murmured before closing the door and running.

And that was how his morning began.

* * *

"Context?"

The sun had climbed a bit higher in the heavens by this time of the day, flooding the room with natural light and making Shiina's eyes look all the more piercing. Sorata saw this and blinked once before answering.

"Yes. I'm going to give you lessons on context."

"What does that even mean?"

The girl was sitting smartly on the edge of her bed, while Sorata stood in the center of the room with a drawing board. He'd returned to her room after rousing the rest of the residents and putting out breakfast. After he'd fed Mashiro her fill, he had broached the current topic.

"You always say things that could be misunderstood by other people listening to us talk," He explained. "While I can understand most of what you mean, strangers or even the others living in the Hall might get the wrong idea. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Shiina seemed to consider this for a moment before shaking her head in disagreement.

"I always say what I mean."

Sorata, however, was prepared for this. "Ah, that I know. But the trouble is that not everybody gets what you mean, and I'm going to teach you how to make your thoughts more accessible to others."

Shiina stared back at him for a long time after that, and all he could do was look back, praying that she would accept his proposal.

"Sorata," She said at last.

"Yes?"

"Can you brush my hair for me first?"

He had to pinch the bridge of his nose at the off topic request, but decided it would be best to get all of her needs out of the way first, to keep from allowing distractions to stall his lessons. "Fine. Is it still wet?"

Nod.

"Then I'll dry it, too. Wait here."

A few minutes later, Shiina was sitting between his thighs as he pulled a brush steadily through the girl's lush blonde mane, eyes closed as she enjoyed the pull of his ministrations. The boy had had quite a time trying to untangle the mess that had been her locks, muttering curses under his breath the whole way, but he'd managed to undo them just like he always had. Now, as Sorata's fingers danced lightly across the skin of her neck as he handled her, Mashiro hummed and murmured,

"I like it when you stroke my hair, Sorata."

The boy saw his chance and tsk'd. "You see, that's exactly what I mean. You need to improve your word choice a bit more. Anyone standing outside the door would get the wrong idea."

"What's so wrong about what I said?"

"If one employs a bit of imagination, stroking a person's hair could be perceived as physically intimate," Sorata explained almost scientifically, removing all possible embarrassment from his words. "When I'm really just tidying your hair for you."

"Stroking my hair..." The girl whispered quietly, closing her eyes again. "Interesting."

"It's not interesting, it's misunderstand-able."

"Interesting."

_Sigh..._

His exasperation was cut short, however, when he felt Mashiro pushed her back into his front, tangling his fingers between her silky strands of hair. Blinking in confusion, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"Is this intimate?" She asked him, placing her hands on either side of his thighs to maintain her balance, opening her eyes to gaze into his despite the fact that they were upside down. "Is this what it means?"

Sorata didn't answer at first, instead choosing to take a moment to feel the warmth of Mashiro's body against his, the steady stream of hot air from the dryer heating the tip of his thumb, her warm breath being exhaled to tickle his nose, carrying the sweet scent of strawberries with it. He felt all of this, and almost lost himself in the process, but was able to snap back to reality.

"Something like it," He answered finally.

She twisted her mouth about as she wrestled with his answer then, drawing Sorata's attention to her lips. They were small and full, colored a blushing pink to compliment the tone of her skin, briefly moistened when a tongue flicked out to lick the bottom portion in one swift motion.

"Sorata."

He brought his eyes back down to hers and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Can we try kissing now?"

"Now?"

"Now."

He could feel his heart hammering again. Or maybe it already had been, and he had failed to notice. "I-It's still kind of hard for me to do anything with your eyes open."

She closed them.

And those lips moved to accept his.

Eyes going wide despite the urge to close them himself, Sorata switched the dryer off to reach up and hold her chin between two fingers, slowly, steadily bringing himself closer to falling within that bewitching mouth-

"Kanda-senpai...?"

_Ah, shit._

Iori Himemiya stood at the door, holding a tray stacked with tea. Apparently, Aoyama had tasked him with bringing the drinks to them. Sorata expected him to drop the tray in horror and turn tail like Kanna did, but what he really did went complete against his expectations.

The kouhai fell to his knees and planted both palms against the floor, shouting,

"PLEASE TEACH ME YOUR WAYS!"

* * *

**Review it, yeah?**


	2. Rain

**I guess I really meant it when I said this was going to be updated irregularly (haha). I am aware that these are rather short, and the flow of ideas may feel uncomfortable at times, but please give me one more chapter to become used to writing for this fandom. I've been stuck in Sword Art Online for such a long time and I'm having a difficult time transitioning...**

* * *

Chapter 2: Rain

_Tick, tock..._

Mashiro felt the reverberations of the wall clock sitting just outside her door echoing through the flooring she lay on, the steady throbbing of the timepiece striking some sort of mental drum in her head. She had thought, briefly, that perhaps such a captivating rhythm would serve as interesting concept for a painting someday, but the girl didn't want to think about art right now. Surprisingly, Mashiro was feeling rather lethargic at the moment. And...thoughtful.

Flicking her eyes, the artist stole a glance outside the window. A steady summer storm was unleashing its wrath across the general community, partially flooding certain streets and dropping temperatures to frigid levels. School had been cancelled for the day, and Sensei had ordered all of her students to stay in their dorms and avoid contracting some sort of illness. While Mashiro couldn't say for sure, she was under the impression that laying down on a cold wooden floor for an hour in nothing but a thin nightgown couldn't be too relaxing for one's nervous system, not that she intended to alter her position anytime soon. She was busy thinking.

_Tick, tock, tick..._

The weather. A curious thing, the weather. Mashiro let her head loll to the side a fraction in order to better observe the torrential downpour lacing the windowpane across the room. It was capable of great extremes and normalities. Whenever the weather was nice, nobody really noticed or appreciated it. Perhaps this was why the most important memories were made in the rain, or the snow. The great extremes of nature, like an underscore to a past event which indicated that it was not to be forgotten. Mashiro had surely had some important experiences in unfavorable weather. It had been time somewhat long ago, among the veils of a lovingly frigid winter, the time when hearts were at their most unpredictable states.

It had also been a time of uncertainty. Before, during her years in England, her only certainty had been art. When the lighting angled from left to right, the shadows would point in such a direction; when she shaded with this much force, the composition of the material would appear a certain way. She could never be sure of the world outside, what it held, or even the world inside, what she truly wanted and felt. Things like "worry for the future" or "worry for others" had been near foreign terms to her then. She knew what they meant, but only superficially.

Once Mashiro had come to Japan, and met Sorata, it felt like there was a second certainty to rely on. As time passed, the girl almost found delight in thinking that he would always be there for her, taking care of her, being a link to the world she had chosen to ignore for such a long time. But then their relationship had been pushed to the brink, and Sorata had become hideously angry with her. Suddenly, what was secure had now become hostile. Being unpracticed in the ways of social communication, Mashiro had done the best she could; that was, wait in the snow until Sorata came for her.

He had been angry with her then, too. Why was she outside, in the chilly air? Why did she worry him so? It had not occurred to her, before, the possible ramifications of her plans. She'd just wanted to give him a baumkuchen. Mashiro had acted based on what she knew: that baumkuchen made her happy, and that she wanted Sorata to be happy again. Somehow, those two had become linked together.

She remembered thinking, sitting there at the fountain underneath the accumulating blanket of snow flakes. It had allowed her to realize that her attempts to gratify herself to Sorata did in effect exemplify her connection to him. Before, Mashiro had never been able to consider herself to be in connection to another human. Her parents had never been the most doting of adults, and her peers had always seemed so much more adolescent than she was. This must have been why art became her outlet for her emotions, as well as the reason for her lack of concern for fame or prestige. Many, many people had incessantly asked the question: Don't you care about your fame? Of course she didn't. Her paintings were just depictions of what her emotions were, and emotions was something every human was capable of experiencing. Why should she receive recognition alone? Wasn't every individual worthy of praise, then?

Sorata hadn't just been her "first man." He'd also become the first person who was able to share emotions with her. Of course, she knew the boy didn't understand everything she did; she didn't, herself. But he listened, and cared, and that had been more than enough. Suddenly, she didn't have to put a brush to paper to express herself. Or at least, not all the time. Whenever he would sigh, or laugh, or frown at something she herself had done, it was almost like Sorata's face was a canvas she had made alterations to. She had a hand in the world.

Reaching up to play with the bangs sweeping across her forehead, Mashiro continued watching the rain pound against the window.

A funny thing, the weather...

_Tick, tock, tick, tock..._

* * *

_Tick._

Aoyama started, her slightly green eyes darting about fervently to deduce the current situation. After a few more moments of flailing about, it occurred to her that she must have fallen asleep.

Looking to the right, she saw the wall clock ticking away as it was meant to. While the ticking of a clock usually served as a soothing melody to sleep with, this particular tick had felt particularly loud, as it had resonated through her eardrums, waking her from her doze. Shaking her head at her own carelessness, Aoyama brought a hand up to her face and yawned.

"Are you tired, Nanami?"

Blinking, Aoyama saw Sorata sitting across the table from her. Oh, yes, that was right. They were working on his game design presentation together. Despite their teacher's orders, the two of them had decided to leave their rooms and set up at the large dining table in the kitchen in order to have access to more workspace. They had been diligently toiling for a few hours now, occasionally practicing lines from Sorata's survival horror. A silence had lapsed between them, though, allowing for Aoyama's brief doze.

"Ah...sorry. I'm fine," She assured him. Then something occurred to her. "Did you just call me Nanami?"

Sorata looked up from a sheaf of papers on marketability and almost immediately blushed. "S-Sorry," He murmured, hiding his eyes back behind his documents.

Deciding she was still to lethargic to tease the boy any further, Aoyama turned her neck and took a peek at the window. "It's raining pretty hard today, isn't it?"

Sensing the change in conversation, Sorata said back, "Yeah. Odd, since it's summer. Not that I mind missing school."

"You're horrible, Kanda-kun."

"Thank you."

Leaning her chin into the cusp of her palm, Nanami continued observing the weather. The rain had always held a melancholy connotation to her. She knew there were some that felt relaxed and happy when it was pouring at such a magnitude as this, like Misaki, but she'd never been able to understand that. The rain was depressing. The best she could do was ignore it.

Sorata glanced up again and saw his friend engrossed with staring at the droplets strike the windowpane. He watched her for a moment, smiling, then asked, "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing much," She murmured back. "I was just remembering the last time it rained like this."

It took a moment for him to remember what she was talking about, and when he did, he laughed nervously. "That was an emotional day for all of us, wasn't it?"

"Ah. Well, for me, anyway," Nanami chuckled. "You told me some important things that day, Kanda-kun."

A wry smile in return. "Care to refresh my memory?"

"You just want to hear me say it."

"Perhaps."

Aoyama sighed in exasperation at this, trying her best to keep the affection out of her voice. "You told me that it was okay to feel sad. You let me vent to you, even though you weren't in any way responsible for how I was feeling, and you tried your best to understand...and then I cried."

"Like there was no tomorrow."

"Shut up."

Sitting back, Sorata looked past his forehead at the rain-streaked windowpane. Yes, he remembered that cold day. The very air itself had shivered as he felt Aoyama and took her frustrations to heart, and as she'd clung to him, weeping, he'd thought that they were like two flames among a world of darkness. Not that he was going to tell her that.

Of course, there had been other rainy days. Sorata remembered particularly the day Mashiro had been notified of her failure at the new manga artists' competition. He had tried to comfort her without thinking about what he was trying to say, and the words had come out disjointed and ugly to everyone's ears. He'd run outside, afterwards, to sit on a bench under the torrential downpour without any regard for becoming soaked. A little while later, Jin had come for him.

_"The problem with talent is that is unconsciously wraps up and destroys everything around it,"_ He'd said.

There was a reason Sorata still remembered those words, the reason being he had witnessed it happen again and again before his very eyes. It had started on a small scale, with his discovery of Mashiro's inability to care for herself. That had allowed him to find out about the girl's enormous talent. At first, he had tried to dismiss what he had stumbled upon. Brilliant artist she may be, but Mashiro was still socially inept, and in a way had to depend on him. It had made him feel like less of a mediocre schmo when he knew somebody couldn't get along without him.

When Rita had come to take Mashiro back to England, Sorata had known the cycle was repeating herself. Shiina's past, or rather her prodigal talent, was responsible for nearly taking her away from him, and opening a hole in his heart he didn't want to have. He had allowed himself to care for the human side of Mashiro, buried somewhere deep inside, protected by years of channeling her feelings through a paintbrush. But in the end, the paintbrush had come back to almost hurt him.

So why did he still care for Mashiro? The question had been posed to him many times in the past, but only a few months ago had he been able to answer it honestly. The girl came with more than her fair share of complications, and her ability made it seem like she soared so very high above him. At first, Sorata's answer had been that letting Mashiro go would be cowardly. It would mean he couldn't handle the level of her skill, like all those people at her uncle's studio who had left due to inferiority complexes. Wouldn't that just dig a deeper hole for himself? Wouldn't he feel like an even greater loser for being unable to measure up to the prodigies walking around Sakura Hall?

His answer was different, now. After all, one did not have to become as good at a craft as someone else to be worth something. Rita had gone through this, even convincing Mashiro to take up the manga genre out of jealousy, although she came to regret it. If a person was able to find pride in what he had created, and understood that he had put everything he had into it, that was enough. To Sorata, taking care of Mashiro was something he could take pride in. Even the most talented of people needed somebody to lean on every once in a while, and he wanted to be that person for her.

The day it had poured rain, and he had held Nanami in his arms, Sorata had wanted her to know this. That the ideal result was not always going to come to fruition, not matter how fervently one showed her effort. The formula to life was a system of tainted happiness and sweet depression. Sorata had tried his best to say, in his own words, that while humans strove to achieve absolutes, this was virtually impossible. One cannot love without comprehending the definition of hatred, and like this, not everything was going to turn out perfectly, and that was okay.

"I'm getting old, aren't I?" He muttered under his breath.

"Hm?" Nanami asked, looking up.

"Nothing," Sorata said.

Outside, the rain began to ease as the night wore on.

_Well, it took a while, but I've managed to realize that._

* * *

**Would you rather that I made all the chapters fluffy/funny, or mix it in with deep thoughts like these? I know that Sakura Hall is primarily a rom/com, but there were some great concepts in the anime I would like to explore.**

**Please give me your feedback!**

**And review, yeah? You know they help ;)**


	3. Stupid Sorata

**Yay, more funnies (hopefully).**

* * *

Chapter 3: Stupid Sorata

The scent of hotpot permeated the air of Sakura Hall, the hearty smell lacing its way through the wooden halls and between the cracks in the walls. All of the Hall's residents were situated around the usual dining table, and a gentle atmosphere remained free-floating among all of them, promoting some brief spurts of idle chatter while they awaited their meal. Misaki was actually the one cooking for them this time, claiming she'd discovered a secret recipe. Yuuki was trying her best to keep a live conversation going with Kanna, her former roommate, who had run from the regular dorms only to find the cause had followed her. Nanami was dozing slightly, having worked an extra shift recently, and Sensei was explaining the ramifications of peeping on girls to Iori. The only one missing from the table of Mashiro, who had gone off somewhere to do who knew what.

Sorata noticed none of this, however.

The aspiring game designer was, as usual, allowing his mind to be predominated by the prospect of his upcoming presentation. Seeing as the genre was survival horror, he understood that the game would have to implement enough fear to leave a lasting impression to a player. In order to achieve this, he would have to make sure the source of fear would be striking in its appearance. But how do go about this? Sorata didn't want to take the standard avenue of rotting flesh, or dismembered limbs, despite their lasting potential. He wanted to scare a player subliminally, through the darkest corners of the mind. Finding his mind blank, he began to casually sort through various adjectives of negative connotation.

_Horrendous...bad...ugly...vile..._

"Sorata, what do you think?"

"_Repulsive..._" He murmured softly.

Silence.

Blinking, Sorata looked up from his reverie to find his peers circled around the table and staring at him in horror. Darting his eyes from side to side, he returned all of their horrified stares and stuttered, "Wh-What's with you guys?"

Only then did he notice Mashiro, who had apparently returned to the table, standing not four feet from him in a rose-red dress that matched the girl's eyes frighteningly well. Sorata did not have time to indulge himself in this, however, because the look on Mashiro's face looked stricken.

_Sorata, what do you think?_

...Oh.

Struggling to get his jaw to work properly, Sorata said, "Uh...I...it's not what you think Mashiro, I was just thinking about something else, and I didn't-"

"Sorata no baka," Mashiro said softly, cutting him off.

Deciding the tension in the air was too severe, Nanami derived that it was time for her to step in. "Oh! Mashiro, it looks like you've already changed!" The girl exclaimed with forced enthusiasm, leaving her seat to place her hands on the other female's slender arms and admire her attire.

_Oh, that's right._ The women of Sakura Hall would be attending a party. Misaki's latest anime had become a huge hit, climbing to the peaks of the charts at an astonishing rate, inciting a celebration of some sort. The woman who was both Misaki's publisher and producer had allowed the anime artist to bring four other people with her, but no more, because the establishment where the party was to be held would only accept so many people. While Misaki had apologized fervently for not being able to take Sorata, he had assured her it was alright. If he were to go, it would mean that one of the girls would have to miss out on some well-deserved fun, and he couldn't do that to any of them.

Even Sensei, apparently, though he couldn't really consider her a girl anymore (as she had since exceeded level 30).

Misaki had tried to apologize to Ryūnosuke as well, but the young hacker had sent her away for two reasons: One, he did not care for social gatherings of which he had no affiliation, and two, he absolutely _despised_ it when people came into his room uninvited.

And so, Sorata and Ryūnosuke would be alone in the Hall once the the women had left for the party. Iori, Sorata's kouhai, apparently had plans as well. Something about going out to buy magazines, and while nobody had questioned the nature of the magazines he was planning to purchase, nobody had really needed to ask, either. Sorata wondered if he would be bored with everybody gone. Sure, he could work on his game pitch, but the Hall would be empty, and the general feeling of liveliness gone from the atmosphere.

Plus, he'd have to worry about Mashiro getting into some sort of trouble.

"Don't worry, I'll take on Mashiro Duty for you," Nanami had joked once he'd expressed his worry somewhat. "You really care about her, don't you?"

Sorata had blinked, trying his best to maintain a straight face. "Well, it's my job."

Now, he was trying his best to avoid making eye contact with Mashiro as Nanami tried to lead the girl away from the table. After a little while, the mangaka allowed the voice actor to pull her away, but not before hissing, "Sorata no baka" one more time.

Once that was all over, Sensei shook her head in exasperation.

"You're never going to get married at this rate, Kanda."

"Speak for yourself."

_Wack._

* * *

An hour later, Sorata was standing just inside the front door the Sakura Hall, waving goodbye to the departing partygoers. Both Nanami and Kanna returned his farewell, but Mashiro turned her face away from him, murmuring, "Sorata no baka..."

Once they had departed, he sighed and closed the door to block the early night's chill. Turning away from the exit, he observed the now desolate kitchen. It was going to be a long night.

Deciding he would check up on Ryūnosuke before he went to work on his presentation, Sorata padded on thick socks down the hall. Upon reaching the young programmer's quarters, he was surprised to find the door slightly ajar. Walking up to the door, he peeked into the crack and found Ryūnosuke squatting on the threshold.

A frown. "Ryūnosuke...what are you doing?"

The hacker didn't glance up. Only then did Sorata notice what he was working on. There was some sort of mechanism he'd bored into the wall, along the places where the door met the plaster. A screwdriver held in the boy's pale hand was gyrating a bolt into said mechanism, bringing to Sorata's attention to the fact that there were splinters of wood all over the floor.

"Ryūnosuke, what are you_ doing?_" He repeated, this time with more force as he allowed himself into the room. The hacker turned in irritation.

"I told you, I hate when people come in here uninvited!"

Not deigning to respond immediately, Sorata observed what the boy had been working on. Two mechanisms, composed of several joints and mini-motors, were situated just by the hinges of the door. Another, smaller counterpart was latched onto the wall just next to where the door knob would be. Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "Tell me, please...what is going on here?"

Ryūnosuke humphed. "I'm trying my best to keep people from barging in here, of course. I've spent all day working on this. The mechanism by the knob will sense whenever anybody comes within two feet of the door, and the motors at the hinges with screw the door shut so nobody can come inside with my permission. If I so happen to leave the room, there is a keypad which will open the door if a proper password is input. So now that you know what I've been up to, would you care to leave?"

Glancing at the other side of the door, Sorata noticed that there was, indeed, a small keypad situated on the wooden surface, glowing dully in the darkness. Turning back to the prodigal hacker, he said, "Are you even allowed to make modifications to the dorms? And besides, where did you_ get_ this stuff?"

Ryūnosuke avoided eye contact. "I have connections."

"Uh, huh..."

Ryūnosuke narrowed his eyes. "In any case, please leave now! I have to complete the lock before everybody else gets back home. Misaki is bound to try and come in here to share what 'adventures' those women experienced, and I would rather not have to endure that."

Frowning, Sorata walked over to the machine latched by the doorknob and poked at it. "You'll get in trouble, you know."

"Don't touch that!" Ryūnosuke shouted, ignoring his friend's warning. "You might set off the-"

His sentence was cut off, however, when the wood of the door slammed against the frame, rattling from the force exerted by the hinge mechanisms. A split second later, the sound of self-implementing screws could be heard over the silence, like several bolts were being gyrated into the concrete under the walls.

A deadly silence.

Turning, Sorata tried his best to look sorry, but quailed under Ryūnosuke's murderous gaze.

"Um..." He searched for words.

"Sorry?"

"SORRY!?" The hacker roared, making the other boy start. "That doesn't cut it! You just locked both of us in here with nobody outside to help us!"

The programmer's words set the flame of fear alive in Sorata's chest, who stuttered, "B-But can't you just unlock it from the inside?"

A look of disgust crossed his face. "Unfortunately, no. I did not think to take such a precaution, in the hopes that _a certain somebody_ would decide to leave me alone."

That said, he stalked over to the computer sitting at the desk and awakened it with the tap of a finger. Using the mouse to click around a few times, Ryūnosuke said, "Maid-chan!"

The virtual artificial intelligence emerged from the corner of the screen, all bright bubbly smiles and frilly dress, ready to assist her master. "Yes, Ryūnosuke-sama?"

A blink. "The lock I was installing has trapped us in here. Is there anything you can do about it?"

_Ah, of course,_ Sorata thought, relieved. As far as he knew, Maid-chan had unlimited access to anything regarding technology inside of Sakura Hall, and probably beyond, as well. Opening the mechanical lock would be a piece of cake for the artificial intelligence.

Maid-chan's avatar put a hand to her chin in apparent thought. Then she said, "I'm sorry to say that I cannot, Master. The lock is entirely independent from the building's mechanical infrastructure, so I guess the two of you are doomed, haha!"

_Two hours later._

Sorata tried to clear his throat and ended up coughing instead. He hadn't been able to drink anything since dinner at around six, which had been about three hours ago. It was nine at night now, and they were still stuck inside of Ryūnosuke's room.

The mechanical locks had refused to budge, no matter what they had tried to do. They were virtually impossible to break, according to the installer, unless you had an unpinned grenade and a healthy dosage of TNT at your (recommended) legal disposal. Which meant they would have to wait until somebody came home.

"I left a stick note with the password written on it on the door outside, just in case," Ryūnosuke had muttered. "When the others get back home, somebody will let us out. So quit wasting your energy."

The hacker was asleep now, leaning his back against the cool wooden surface of the door, his head drooping slightly towards his chest. Sorata had taken residence on his peer's spinning chair, fingers lightly drumming on the surface of the keyboard. A glance at the clock told him it was half past nine now. They had been in hear for nearly three hours now, he was hungry, and he was thirsty, and he was _bored..._

His attention was drawn to the computer when its monitor flared to life, and the avatar of Maid-chan bounced onto the screen. Resting a pair of tired eyes on the virtual maid, Sorata waited for her to say what she needed to say.

"How are you feeling, Kanda-sama?"

Sorata returned her gaze blandly. "Just call me Kanda."

Without answering, the maid peeked out from the screen which confined her at the sleeping form of her creator. Smiling happily, she said softly as not to wake him, "Ryūnosuke-sama is cute when he's asleep, isn't he?"

"Something tells me you know an awful lot about what he looks like when he's asleep."

"Of course I do, Kanda-sama. I've seen him fall asleep in front of the computer many times. I have several pictures, too, that I don't let him see. Please don't tell him okay? LOL!"

Frowning slightly, Sorata watched Ryūnosuke slumber for a little while. Then he smiled. _Of course. That's how he's always been. But still..._ Turning to the screen, he said, "Ryūnosuke has become more sociable to his fellow humans lately, hasn't he?"

Maid-chan blinked at the observation before nodding in agreement. "I agree, Kanda-sama. He even cleared out certain spots in his schedule for socializing with you, instead!"

"Oh? And what does he usually do with that time?"

"He hacks several major corporate juggernauts."

_Ryūnosuke, you need to install some sort of security for your AI's knowledge,_ Sorata thought as he shook his head in exasperation.

Well, he might as well take advantage of the situation.

"Say, Maid-chan, how is Ryūnosuke's relationship with Rita-san going?" He asked nonchalantly.

The virtual maid crossed her stubby arms in agitation and closed her eyes, turning away with a slight _humph._ "He still does not reply to all of her mail, thankfully, although he does respond occasionally." She seemed to consider her next words. "And he blushes sometimes while reading them."

Sorata smiled at the rage masked behind the AI' s words and said, "Do you feel jealous of Rita for taking Ryūnosuke's attention?"

Maid-chan turned away and donned a pair of shades before stealing a glance at him. "Why, would you be willing to help me with that?"

"Um...nothing violent, sorry."

"Curses."

Sorata laughed at that. Ryūnosuke had really given the maid a personality of her own. Or perhaps he had allowed it to develop itself?

"It is of no matter," Maid-chan said, waving her hand to dismiss her worries. "Ryūnosuke-sama says that his goal is to give me an artificial body, and then I will be able to be with him..for...ever..." Sorata watched the AI's faced degenerate into a fantasy-dominated, lewd expression as she placed her fingerless hands on her cheeks to mask her rather noticeable flush. Gulping at this observation, Sorata found it best not to say anything.

"Yes...just you wait, Rita-san... Ryūnosuke will be mine..ha..haha, hahahaha..."

The screen blanked out.

Sighing with a mix of exasperation, boredom and amusement, Sorata leaned back in the spinning chair to stare up at the ceiling. It was half past ten, now. They'd been trapped in the room for over three hours. Briefly, he wondered if the others were having fun at the party, and he wondered in particular of Mashiro had gotten into any trouble yet. He almost hoped there wouldn't be any buamkuchen there, knowing the girl would devour the establishment's stores well before anyone else could stop her.

_Sorata, no baka._

He felt bad for what he'd said. True, he hadn't meant it; he hadn't even been addressing her when he'd spoken, actually. Yet the look of disappointment on Mashiro's face had made his chest throb in a weird way he could not explain. He never wanted her to keep that expression, if he could help it. Silently, Sorata resolved to apologize once he escaped from this room.

If he ever escaped from this room.

Two more hours passed. A cursory glance at the clock yielded that it was past midnight. So, the celebrations were lasting well into the night. He hoped Mashiro would choose to go to sleep immediately, because if she decided to work on her manga she would never wake up for school on time and he would have to pick out underwear for her again-

_Beep, beep, beep._

Ryūnosuke's eyes flew open.

"Somebody's punching in the sequence," He said fervently, prompting Sorata to hop out of the chair and stand in anticipation. What a relief! Finally, they could get out of this stuffy hole and get some _food..._

The knob turned, and the door was pulled open from the other side. Sorata saw Mashiro's confused expression peeking through the crack, but not for long, as Ryūnosuke barreled past her to gulp down fresh air. Wasting no time, he fumbled with the hinge mechanisms outside until a sequence was pressed, and the machines were deactivated.

"Whew," Sorata murmured, walking towards the door. "Thanks for letting us out, Mashiro," He smiled.

She just stared coldly back at him.

An uncertain smile. "...Mashiro?"

The mangaka turned to Ryūnosuke and said simply, "Turn it back on."

The programmer grinned evilly and reactivated the mechanism.

Sorata felt his heart speed up. "Guys, what-"

"Sorata no baka," Mashiro deadpanned before shutting the door.

There was a stricken silence as the screws reinserted themselves, locking him inside once again.

The computer flared to life once more and Maid-chan said, "Never insult a woman's dress, Kanda-sama."

Sorata just stared at the door, unable to utter a word until he took a deep breath and shouted,

"MASHIROOOOOO!"

* * *

**Next time: Nanami learns how to drive.**


	4. Kawaii

Chapter 4: Kawaii~

"He he he, hehe he..."

_Click click, tap..._

A few struggling lances of sunlight managed to barely crawl their way out from under the shades which denied them, only to be swallowed up by the night within the room, in direct contrast to the light of day outside. The air contained within the room's four walls felt constricted, heated, damp; as if the door had remained closed for much to long, and the dorm's resident inside for even longer. A worn shirt was discarded somewhere in the general direction of the desk chair, and a sock lay not too far from it, its identical companion still yet to be located. The only sounds to be heard were the slight clickings and tappings coming from one corner of the room, a spot on the floor between the bed and the dresser, where one would find a certain first-year enjoying something he really should not be.

"Haha, hehe...oh..."

An almost sickly whit glow gently bathed Iori Himemiya's face as his eyes remained committed to the screen before them, irises darting about to absorb every last detail, every last parameter. Doing his best to absently repress yet another round of perverted snickers, Iori kept his voice as low as possible and giggled,

"Kawaii-na..."

As if in response to his compliments, the girl standing inside the PSP screen chuckled lightly and replied, marked subtitles jogging their way across the screen,

_"I love spending time together with you, Iori-kun!"_

"Kawaii..." Himemiya almost shouted, though he managed to repress himself at the very last moment. Slithering down from his propped-up position against the side of the bed, the first-year watched more text flit across the screen, grinning stupidly at the images presented to him.

Meanwhile, outside the kouhai's room, life as usual was makings its way through the day among the residents of Sakura Hall.

"Neh neh, Shiina-san, tell me about England! Is it true that there's lots and lots of coal there?"

"Coal?"

"I heard that almost everything there is made out of coal."

"We have lots of coal."

"But isn't it hard, living in a country where there's just coal everywhere?"

"We get by."

"Mashiro," Sorata said over the lip of his mug, "I would prefer it if you didn't sully my sister's common sense any further."

The blonde mangaka brushed her hair out of her eyes to look back at him, almost instantly drawing his attention to the blood red irises. "It's English knowledge, Sorata. How could you understand?"

"I know enough to be sure that England isn't entirely composed of coal."

At the other end of the table, Nanami frowned at the sight of Ryūnosuke, who had come out of his recluse to join them for a rare breakfast outside, munching on his usual batch on tomatoes. He wasn't very discreet about it either, sinking his teeth into the flesh of every last one with as much relish, apparently lacking the ability to grow tired of them. Sighing and shaking her head, the voice actress reached over and picked up one of the fruits, asking, "What's so great about these, anyway?"

"They're trustworthy," Ryūnosuke snapped back simply, one quick hand darting out to snatch back the tomato sitting in Aoyama's hand.

"Trustworthy?"

"Tomatoes would never betray me."

"I'm sure other kinds of food are as capable of fidelity, Ryūnosuke..."

"No. Only tomatoes can be trusted. Anything has the potential to stab me in the back. Like bread. _Especially_ bread. Have you any idea how dangerous bread is?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Ignorance is indeed bliss..."

Rolling her eyes at the hacker's sage-like attitude, Nanami turned towards the kitchen and said, "Kanna, could you please go ask Himemiya-kun to come to lunch? I haven't seen him come out of his room yet, today."

The relatively new resident of the Hall blinked, then frowned. "Do I have to go fetch that pervert?"

"Come now, he's a nice guy. Why are you so hostile to him?"

"He's a peeping tom!"

"You can't blame a man for following his instincts," Sorata said knowledgeably, feigning interest in a gaming magazine when the women's gaze shifted towards him.

Finally Kanna sighed in defeat and threw her hands up in the air. "Fine, fine, I'll go fetch him," The girl relented as she padded down the hall towards her peer's dorm.

It took exactly two hundred seconds for chaos to ensue.

"IORI HIMEMIYA!" Roared Kanna's voice from around the bend in the hall, the shout ringing throughout the wooden walls of the entire building and making the residents sitting around the lunch table start badly. Standing out of her chair, Nanami said, "What the hell is going on?"

The girl's question was promptly answered as two sets of footsteps rapidly approached their location, and not three seconds later Iori skidded into the eating room and darted behind the voice actress, clutching at the older girl's shoulders as if she were some sort of meat shield. He was quickly followed by Kanna, whose eyes were livid as her hands clutched something small and metallic that was emitting odd noises.

There was a moment of tense silence as the steamed girl gritted her teeth and ground out, "_Himemiya..."_ All the while advancing with the intent to kill clearly written across her face. This also gave the rest of the residents an opportunity to clearly identify the kinds of sounds coming from the small portable game device held within Kanna's grasp.

That was, everyone was able to identify them as the sounds of a guy and a girl who were having a _really_ good time.

Iori cowered beneath the menace of her glare and shrunk further behind Nanami's protection, pleading, "Please, Aoyama-senpai, she'd going to murder me!"

"You deserver worse than death, you pervert!" Kanna screamed, advancing towards him regardless of the fact that Nanami was in the way. Instead of physically attacking, however, she thrust the gaming device in Iori's face and demanded, "Explain this!"

Squinting briefly at the screen, Aoyama did her best to make out what the graphics were showing her before her entire face went beet red.

"I..." The girl stuttered as her flush proceeded to dominate her ears, as well. "I'm sorry, Himemiya, but I can't shield you from this one."

Kanna nodded in approval before roughly handing the gaming device to Nanami, who caught it gingerly, as if it were radioactive. Almost shoving her senpai out of the way, the first-year seized Iori by the ears and literally dragged him out of the room kicking and yelling, and Sorata had to sympathize for him. Women truly were terrifying.

Meanwhile, the obscene noises had seized to emit from the device, which Nanami still had embarrassed possession of. Standing, Sorata walked over to her and leaned in to get a good look at what had been the source of all this commotion.

Only one look was good enough.

"Ah..." The boy said, reaching out to take the gaming device from Nanami. "So he was playing one of these, huh? No wonder Kanna was so mad."

"What is it?" His sister asked, taking a brief hiatus from her incessant inquiry of Mashiro's personal life.

Shaking his head and suppressing a chuckle, Sorata showed them all the screen. "He was playing a galge," The boy laughed as he shut off the system and handed in back to the Nanami. "And it doesn't look like it was meant for very young audiences, either. There's some naughty stuff in there; the kinds of things that would tick Kanna off. Iori made a big mistake in being caught by her."

Sighing in apparently justified exasperation, Sensei finished her water and said, "Kids these days, having to resort to games in order to find love because they can't do it for themselves in reality..."

"Speak for yourself, Sensei."

"You have three seconds to run, Kanda."

"Could you make it an hour?"

"Sorata, shut up," Nanami sighed.

"Sorry."

"Galge?" Mashiro asked in her usual drone, picking apart a sandwich in her own unorthodox manner. "Are those the games where you conquer a bunch of girls through interactions?"

Sorata nodded. "Yeah. Most of them are pretty tame, but there are always exceptions."

"In any case," Nanami said as she slowly examined the PSP in her hands with offhanded interest, "I'll just keep this until Kanna decides it isn't so wise to kill Himemiya after all. It wouldn't be so great if she caught him playing this again."

There was a general murmur of consent from the rest of the residents, and Aoyama left to stow the PSP somewhere in her room, where it would be safe.

Meanwhile, Mashiro finished the rest of her sandwich and stood to leave the plate in the sink, her skirt fluttering in the afternoon's winds. After doing so, she turned and walked over to Sorata, bluntly reaching out to tug at his belt and say, "Sorata, come to my room."

This, understandably, led to some minor commotion.

Some hours later, Nanami was busy filling out an inventory form at her desk. She and a couple other employees had been tasked with taking inventory of the products at the store she worked part-time in, but several unexpected developments had kept everybody but herself from being able to take the actual inventory. Which meant she'd have to do it all herself. Well, she had been given extra pay for the month...

Sighing, she scrawled her pencil across another few lines, making sure to take careful notice of the numbers written in her notes. At least she wouldn't have to spend the night at the store counting banana milk cartons.

After reaching the end of the page, she used her fingers to reach between the pages and was about to continue her toiling when her eye caught on the PSP sitting on her desk.

She hadn't exactly decided where to put it just yet, not knowing whether it was appropriate for her to keep someone else's belongings inside a private chamber, so she had settled with leaving it in plain sight so she could quickly get to work. Now, as she sat staring at the small device, Aoyama briefly wondered what would drive a person to want to play the kinds of games Iori apparently enjoyed so immensely. While she did harbor some small understanding that guys were wired differently when it came to things like pornographic content, she still couldn't wrap her mind around the concept of playing a game with the intention of witnessing such a thing. Was it a primal drive? Or some sort of innate self-hypnotism?

Setting her pencil down, Nanami reached over and picked up the PSP, turning the sleek casing over in her fingers. Of course, she was also aware that galge were sometimes praised for their ability to present story lines which were both interesting and rewarding. She had also, however, been notified of the many crimes tied into inspiration which had originated from games like this. But how did pictures of schoolgirls and text flitting across a screen promote misconduct, or at the very least, absolute obsession? As these thoughts raced sluggishly through Nanami's mind, a slow curiosity began to blossom inside of her.

"_Ki ni narimasu..." _She murmured, voicing her curiosity. Taking a moment to clear away the inventory forms, she brought her knees up to her chest before holding the PSP in front of her and hitting the power button.

The screen flashed to life.

_"Welcome back, Onii-chan!"_

* * *

The very next morning, Sorata found himself in a position that was both flattering and downright nerve wracking.

Mashiro had cornered him just before breakfast asking him to pose for a new painting. Sorata had been surprised at the suggestion, having been under the impression that she should be working on her manga, but the blonde had insisted that she still felt the urge to paint occasionally, though not as often. He had accepted the girl's request, feeling rather honored to be the subject of such a renowned artist's work, though he was sure the painting wouldn't appear in any global conventions. So some minutes later, he'd sat smartly on a modest stool, waiting for Mashiro to begin.

The artist took a seat behind her canvas and pulled a pencil to initiate the skeleton sketches, eyes darting back and forth between himself and the paper. It made his heart race a bit to have the girl's eyes roving over his entire being so naturally, but he put up with it. It wouldn't do to break position now.

"Say, Mashiro," Sorata said, trying to move nothing other than his lips.

"Hm?"

"Have you seen Nanami yet this morning? I haven't, and she's usually up before anybody else."

"No," The blonde replied absently as she continued her sketching. Sorata deemed it useless to try and converse with her while she was absorbed in her work and chose to remain still in silence.

Forty minutes passed, and he was beginning to feel tired of being locked into one position for so long. Mashiro had since switched to her paint, one slight arm raised to the canvas to sweep a brush across the smooth material. He watched her work for a while, somewhat entranced by the serene look of concentration on her face, before the artist sighed and set her brushes down before rising from her seat.

"Mashiro?" He asked uncertainly as she padded over to him. "Are you going to take a break or something?"

"No," She said back simply. Walking up to stand between his slightly parted legs, the girl reached up and slid a single finger along the length of his collarbone without warning, causing a wave of goosebumps to rise on his neck. Barely resisting the urge to flinch, Sorata asked, "What...what are you doing?"

"I need to feel your skin and clothes to know what the texture should look like," Mashiro explained as three more fingers joined the probing. After she'd finished exploring his collarbone, she proceeded to tickle at his ears and ghost her way over his nose, using almost a featherlight touch. Sorata almost lost it when the tip of a nail just barely nicked his lower lip, and the girl's proximity to his self and the feeling of her warmth breath ruffling his hair only worked to undo him further. Closing his eyes to stave off the feeling, he waited as patiently as possible until Mashiro was finished with her investigation. Finally, the artist allowed a very rare smile to come to her lips before she leaned over and tugged at his collar, whispering, "Don't get too excited, okay?" Before turning away to return to her painting.

Sorata stared at her for several minutes after that, trying to figure out if Mashiro had actually brought herself to come and tease him. When did Mashiro ever tease anybody? Never. Everything was always frank with her.

_She's even more dangerous now..._

* * *

A half hour later, Sorata was a third of the way through his breakfast when he noticed Nanami still wasn't up and about. When he asked Sensei about it, the older woman answered nonchalantly, "Why don't you go and wake her up, then?"

Finishing the rest of his meal, he left the eating room and climbed the steps to the girls' dorms, hoping that Nanami hadn't caught a cold, or something like it. Knowing the girl's obsession with working and virtually unstoppable determination, she was more likely to hurt herself getting something done instead of conserving her energy.

Reaching Nanami's room, Sorata reached up and knocked, saying softly, "Nanami, are you awake?"

He had to strain his ears to hear it, but he could detect a strange clicking sound coming from just beyond the door. Frowning at the odd audio, he knocked a second time and called out, a bit more loudly this time, "Are you alright? Are you feel fine?"

His inquiry was answered by a hysterical-sounding giggle from inside, spawning the rather irrational fear that Nanami had finally lost it. Frowning more deeply now, he grasped the door handle and said, "I'm coming in..." Before pushing the door open.

_Click click tap._

Nanami Aoyama sat, curled up into a fetal position on the floor, holding the PSP in her hands. A while glow bathed the girl's face, whose eyes were glued to the screen before her, giggling crazily as she murmured sweet nothings at whoever it was she was conversing within inside the game. Sorata's jaw went slack as he witnessed this, but he gathered himself quickly and cleared his throat loudly, saying, "Nanami, what are you doing?"

The girl glanced up at him from the floor, eyes glazed over from a whole night of gaming.

"Kawaii-na..." She murmured.

He felt his jaw going slack again. "Did you stay up all night playing that? The game Kanna took from Himemiya?"

Nanami nodded proudly back at him, her movements sluggish from lack of sleep. "Kawaii..." She sighed again.

Sorata sighed at how unbelievable the situation was. At least she wouldn't have trouble covering this whole thing up later. "Come on, let's go eat. It's just a virtual girl-"

"Don't talk about Taneshima-chan like that!" Nanami snapped, making him start badly.

"Taneshima...?"

"The cutest girl on the _planet_," The girl said back to him, as if this were supposed to be common knowledge. Clutching the PSP to her chest, she squealed and rolled around the floor, chanting, "Kawaii, kawaii, kawaii..."

Sorata watched her for a moment before turning and leaving the room, making sure to close the door behind him.

"What's wrong with Aoyama-senpai?" Kanna asked when he returned to the table.

Sorata shook his head.

"Should I go check on her too?" The first-year asked, worry in her voice.

"No. You'll kill her too."

"Huh?"

* * *

**I'm assuming 99% of you already know this, but "kawaii" means "cute" or "adorable."**

**And "Ki ni narimasu" denotes curiosity.**


End file.
